"Mycroft."
"Sherlock."
"To what do I owe this great honor?" Beside him, Mrs. Hudson trembled. "May I assert that I have a passenger who needs to be taken home immediately?"
"Yes Sherlock, I can see that. But on the way, listen to me." Mycroft handed Mrs. Hudson a glass of water as they sat in the back seat of the jaguar. She sipped it cautiously. "Don't offer Mrs. Hudson hospitality, Mycroft," Sherlock sneered. "To the point, please!"
"I have reason to believe that you are poking around in things even our government does not have the authority or the knowledge to…poke around in. I must implore you to let this case go. We have intelligence and men on this case taking the proper precautions—"
"You don't think I take precautions?"
"Frankly, no."
"Oh Sherlock, if you're in danger, please do as he says," Mrs. Hudson sniffled.
"Hush Mrs. Hudson you're in shock," Sherlock patted her shoulder and glared at Mycroft. They were almost back to 221 B.
"While your input is always appreciated, it is, as usual, unnecessary."
"Will there ever be a day when you just listen to me?" Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose. Since he had learned of his brother's false suicide and known he had still lived, keeping tabs on him had been harder than ever, but talking to him was the hardest still.
"Probably not, but do keep trying. Oh, that's me. Catch you later," Sherlock slid out of the car, helping Mrs. Hudson and slamming the door behind them a bit too forcefully.
"So what do we know?" Nancy prompted. Sherlock was ferociously pacing beside the windows, John was sat calmly in his chair, and Nancy was absently poking the fire, sending little sparks flickering, combating the dim room. Mrs. Hudson was napping peacefully in her apartment after the full attentions of Dr. Watson.
"They wanted us out of the flat. Called us away to Mrs. Hudson so they could…no, but no one was here." Sherlock spun around, ruffled his hands through his hair, eyes wild. "What if they got exactly what they wanted out of that scheme?"
"Not following, Sherlock," John mumbled.
"Naturally," he snapped. "One of us left. I left alone because I'm just so predictable," he punctuated every word with a stamp of his foot as he paced back to facing the window. "And what happened when I left, John?"
"We came after you?"
"Before that, John! Why! Why did you and Nancy decide that you must come after me?"
"John said you were unstable when you worked alone," Nancy murmured.
Sherlock's mind raced. Then it was all exactly as he had deduced. "And did that make you decide to stay far away from me, Nancy Drew?" He added, unable to meet her eyes.
"Of course not. Made me curious, and concerned."
"Precisely," Sherlock turned his glare to the city outside, as if something out the window could absorb his blame. "We're being played like a perfect game, and there's nothing I hate more than being a part of someone else's game. Don't you understand yet? Everything that's gone on, every lead and circumstance has been carefully contrived to play us against each other. No—" He stopped suddenly, losing his fervor and train of thought when he looked at Nancy. Her pretty features were lit up with concentration, her own mind whirring behind her bright eyes to the point that he could almost trace the movement of her thoughts. Her light red hair was pushed over one shoulder and he felt his eyes trace down her neck.
"No, worse than that. They're playing us for each other."
Nancy huffed. "This is absurd. Why would anyone do that?"
John chimed in, gently, "Moriarty wanted to 'burn the heart out of you', Sherlock. Maybe they're trying to finish the job."
Sherlock suddenly wheeled around and faced Nancy, impossibly close. But she didn't flinch back; she stood her ground with determination.
"Who are you, Nancy Drew?" he demanded.
John stood up. "Sherlock…"
"You just answered your own question."
"Who are you really?" He searched her eyes for a sign of falsehood, of deception, of the sort that he missed in Irene Adler, but he was met only with cool confidence.
"You really think I'm working against you? After everything we've been through together?"
"Oh, what of it. You could be anyone at all. I refuse to play this game a moment longer. I think you should leave at once." He dropped into his chair, pulled his violin to his chin, and began screeching out a horrible melody.
"Sherlock. I think it's alright to trust Nancy," John said quietly.
"It's alright John, I understand. Sherlock has to protect himself the only way he knows how—by pretending emotions are weakness."
"In this case, they are," he spat, and dragged the bow roughly over the strings. "In most cases, honestly."
John shook his head sadly, and trailed after Nancy as she went to the door. "It's alright," she repeated. "I can get to the bottom of this on my own." She picked herself up straight and slipped out onto the street.